


The One Where Alexander Punches Warlic And It Fixes Everything

by Tmae



Category: DragonFable
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-09 23:07:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7820794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tmae/pseuds/Tmae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Exactly what it says on the tin. Why come up with some official sounding title when cleaning up the document name will do?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One Where Alexander Punches Warlic And It Fixes Everything

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, this fic is the greatest thing I have ever written because of a two am conversation.

He needs an edge.  
He really, _really_ needs an edge.

He knows that he can beat Warlic, but he also knows that the other apprentice has more raw power _and_ more experience than he does. That doesn’t mean he’s _better_ , but it definitely gives him an advantage; an advantage increased by his knowledge of and willingness to take advantage of his fear of fire. So, he needs an edge to negate that advantage.

He’s moments away from pouring over his books, from searching for some sort of spell that will give him that edge, when he spots it out of the corner of his eye.

It’s a rock. Just a rock. Nothing special, but he brought it with him all the same.

Okay, so it’s not exactly _just_ a rock – it’s a rock from the Lymcrest mines if you want to nitpick. His parents…his parents might have died, he might have left Lymcrest, he might not have all that many _positive_ memories of the place, but he’d brought the rock with him anyways. Less as a reminder of the people and more of a reminder of the place, he supposes.

And it’s exactly what he needs.

Or, more specifically, it gives him that edge that he needs.

He pulls his hands into his line of sight, curling and uncurling his fingers until he finds just the right way to hold them, shifts his stance so he can finds his centre of balance, closes his eyes and calls up old memories.

A more recent one shows up as well.

_“If you think you can defeat me, then prove it… tomorrow… after school,”_

He feels a smirk creep its way onto his face, even as he practices a movement and finds it clumsy. This would definitely be the edge he needed. He tried again, pulling his arm back, practicing the swing, twisting his body to follow through the momentum… all tricks he’d been taught long ago.

Warlic hadn’t said anything about defeating him using magic, after all…

* * *

“You’re dumber than I thought,” Warlic says, looking infuriatingly sure of himself. It takes everything not to snap there and then, but he forces his grip on his staff to loosen.  
“I can’t believe you actually showed up, bumpkin,”

_Hold it back. Don’t do it yet. Wait for the right moment._

“Shut up. SHUT UP. What is your _problem?_ ” he demands, almost trembling with the effort it is taking not to use the ‘edge’ he had practiced to perfection already.

“You want to know what my _problem_ is?” Warlic asks, voice lowering to almost a growl in anger.  
“You have no idea where I come from. What I could _be_. I am the greatest mage this world has ever seen-”

_Oh that is **IT!**_

His staff drops to the floor with a clatter and before Warlic can even register what is happening, a fist has collided with his face and knocked him stumbling backwards.

Warlic’s own staff slips from his hand as he reaches up to prod gingerly at where the fist collided.

“…you punched me,” he says, looking dazed.

“And I’m about to do it _again_ ,”

The other fist collides with the opposite side of Warlic’s face and he stumbles again, looking more dazed than he had the first time. Before he can recover, a foot has hooked around his ankle and yanked his leg out from under him, sending him crashing to the floor.

Then his arms are yanked behind his back and held there rather painfully and _that knee digging into his back has **got** to hurt._

“I think this counts as _my_ win,” Alexander all but growls, resisting the urge to dig the knee in deeper than necessary to keep Warlic down, angry as he is.

Warlic mutters something that sounds very uncomplimentary.

“ _Seriously!_ ” Alexander finds himself yelling. “ _What is your problem?!_ ”

“I GAVE UP EVERYTHING!” Warlic all but bellows, writhing under the grip ineffectually.  
“I STOOD UP FOR WHAT I THOUGHT WAS RIGHT AND I ENDED UP _HERE!_ I LOST MY _WINGS_ , I LOST MY _CAPACITY_ , I HAD TO REBUILD IT ALL AND IT’S NOT **_FAIR!_** ”

Warlic bucks and knocks Alexander off his back, pushing himself away even as the other goes tumbling to the floor. He doesn’t move to stand though, just sits there, legs splayed and hands clenched into fists against the stone.

“It’s not _FAIR!_ ” Warlic snaps again, looking very much like he wants to punch something himself. “Every spark of my magic, burning, _sparking_ …I had to rebuild _**everything!**_ You don’t have a _clue_ what that’s like!”

“THEN TELL ME!” he doesn’t know where the shout comes from, but it seems the right thing to say in a way he doesn’t understand.

And Warlic _does._ He does tell him. It’s more of a one-sided screaming match than an explanation and every word seems to rip itself painfully from Warlic’s throat but he does tell him.

And wow. _Wow._

“No _wonder_ you’ve been such a jerk,” Alexander says, his voice sounding barely a whisper after the intensity of loudness that was Warlic’s yelling.  
“You’ve had to go through puberty _twice_. I mean, that’s no excuse, but _still_ ,”

Warlic’s expression flashes through shocked to enraged to irritated to confused before finally settling on something Alexander isn’t sure is _real_ if it’s on Warlic’s face in response to a comment like that.

And then Warlic bursts out laughing, confirming that it was indeed amusement.

Somehow, against all odds, Warlic’s laughter is contagious. They’re both laughing far too much considering it was barely even funny but they can’t seem to find the capacity to care or stop. When they finally manage to both stop long enough to breath, they make eye contact and set each other off again.

* * *

 

(Warlic comes in to class the next day with a swollen jaw and a black eye. Jaania freaks and demands to know what they were fighting about _this_ time. Warlic shrugs and looks back at Alexander and says “Something that made me deserve what I got,” and Alexander takes a moment to process what he just heard, but then shrugs because yeah, Warlic totally deserved it.

“We’ve worked it out,” he assures Jaania. Warlic gives him a look that is clearly asking if a one-sided screaming match about his pretty messed up past followed by a mutual laughing fit counts as ‘working it out’. He shrugs again because it pretty much does.

They’ve not worked _everything_ out, sure, but they’re on their way)


End file.
